The Justice
by show-addicted
Summary: Lawyer AU.  The courtroom is a battlefield, where the defence and the prosecution fight battles to deliver Justice. A chain of seemingly coincidental events sets in motion something deadly for all the clueless participants. BL, AtoZuka, SanaOshi, AkuSen.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Justice

Chapter: 1/?

Fandom: Prince of Tennis

Pairing(s): eventual Atobe/Tezuka, Sanada/Oshitari (with some past Atobe/Oshitari and Sanada/Tezuka, as well as a bit of OT4 in the future ;) ), some Akutsu/Sengoku, Yagyuu/Niou, Fuji/Kawamura and others on the side.

Genre: AU, romance, some drama and some humour

Rating: Mature (R-NC17)

Warnings: it's a lawyer AU, so it mentions crimes: murder, rape, drugs, others; also, some swearing; sexual content in later chapters (will be warned for accordingly)

Disclaimer: I don't own The Prince of Tennis manga, anime or any other media related to the original work. I am not associated with the authors. I make no profit writing this story; I'm doing it for fun.

Summary: Atobe Keigo. Oshitari Yuushi. Sanada Genichirou. Tezuka Kunimitsu. Four men, four points of view, two opposite sides of the coin called The Law. Yet, there is only one truth, one Justice. In the courtroom, battles will be fought in order to find that truth. Atobe/Tezuka, Sanada/Oshitari, lawyer AU.

A/N: I think I've never written anything like this before. This fic is going to be at least five chapters of around 8k-words length, plus three (or more) bonuses. I have it all planned out.

*Will be updated semi-regularly (every two-three weeks. Sorry, I'm a working adult and don't have nearly enough time on my hands to write as much as I'd want to.).

*I know very little about law, and even less about law in Japan; my knowledge of any procedures comes from reading a lot of John Grisham books. Also, whatever I know about law in Japan, I know from Wiki. If anything is incorrect (as it most likely is), please bear with me; the fic is AU, so I hope it's okay if not everything is accurate, even if I try to do my research :).

*Please enjoy the story and be kind enough to tell me what you think :) It won't make my writing faster, but it will make me a very happy writer indeed.

* * *

_It's past ten and I'm still at work, _mused Atobe Keigo, loosening his tie with a dramatic sigh, which didn't help much, since the room was hot and breathing was hard. The air conditioning was broken again and the young lawyer had positively no idea how that was possible. Last week, sick with the constant need to repair the mechanism, he'd had a completely new air conditioning installed in the whole building. Yet, it was broken again. Atobe suspected diversion.

He looked at the mass of documents he had yet to look through. This was about to turn into another long all-nighter – which he was, by the way, charging a hefty amount for; he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate on the work ahead.

The case was complicated, to say the least. His client had been accused of rape and murder of a little girl, even though there was essentially no proof; Atobe supposed it was logical, since the man had spent twenty five years in prison for a similar offence (omitting the "little girl" part) and was let out early on probation, for good behaviour. According to the jail's psychologist, Atobe's client no longer posed a threat to society, because his rehabilitation was complete and successful.

Atobe just had to prove it in court, which was going to be difficult. Of course, he didn't doubt his prowess; he was one of the best lawyers in the country, even at the humble age of twenty six, and he belonged to the famous Atobe Corporation – the law firm founded by his Grandfather, the legendary defence attorney who had never lost a single case. Even now, the lawyers hired by Atobe Corporation carried on with that tradition of never losing, and not because they refused to take difficult tasks, oh no.

Spending each waking hour working on a case, giving up on sleep and living off of coffee and energy drinks, coming up with strategies that cover every possible outcome of the trial, every little aspect of the testimonies of witnesses and experts – that kind of dedication was the key to Atobe Corporation's success and its inviolable position.

So, Atobe Keigo, like every other lawyer in the firm, worked himself hard to achieve his goal, because he was a part of the big mechanism triggered by loyalty, ambition and insatiable greed.

... there were exceptions, though.

'Atobe, there ya are. Been looking for ya,' said one of The Exceptions, Oshitari Yuushi, privately Atobe's best friend (if Atobe even had time for something as trivial as friendships; he seriously doubted it these days), entering the conference room that Atobe was sure he'd locked from the inside. He didn't want to know. He definitely didn't.

Oshitari had been his friend since long before they started working in Atobe Corporation; to be honest, they'd known each other since junior high and had been kind of inseparable since then. This was actually hard to believe, because the two were total opposites – while Atobe was mostly serious and honestly hard-working, if not a bit over-dramatic, Oshitari was the laziest bum that walked the planet, and his ultimate goal seemed to be ditching as much work as possible and dumping it on others while still earning his fair share of money.

He was unusually good at that, too. His charm worked wonders on the female and male assistants alike and, for reasons only known to them, they took it upon themselves to "do everything for Oshitari-sama's smile".

'Lose the accent when you're talking to _ore-sama_,' said Atobe in a rather unfriendly tone, which was supposed to convey the message of "get lost before I make you". But Oshitari was never partial to subtleties. He was by far the most troublesome person Atobe's ever had a chance of meeting.

It must had been part of this whole "being from Osaka" business.

'Yeah, yeah, whatever,' Oshitari shrugged his shoulders, ignoring Atobe's glare like he almost always did (the _almost_ referred to the rare times when he thought not ignoring Atobe's glare might be better for own his well-being; usually, he didn't have much of a self-preservation instinct, though). 'Jiroh doesn't wanna take that Akutsu guy's case. Says he's scared. Oh, and he has to prepare better for that case against Marui.' There was a definite note of amusement in Oshitari's tone as he said that, but he put on a poker face that annoyed the hell out of Atobe no matter what.

'Isn't that Akutsu the one I said we were to decline?' Asked Atobe, raising an elegant eyebrow in a "hollier-than-thou" fashion that served only to amuse Oshitari, instead of showing him his proper place. The heir to the Atobe Corporation could already feel a major headache coming.

'Yeah, well, Fuji made us take it,' Oshitari explained in his typical "I don't really care" manner. 'Something about that guy being his boyfriend's childhood pal or whatever,' he pushed some of the documents from the table Atobe was working on and actually sat there, making himself comfortable. He was about to take hold of Atobe's cup of coffee, too, but Atobe quickly removed it from his reach. 'Anyway, what do we do?'

'Give it to Sengoku,' decided Atobe, massaging his temples. He definitely had to get rid of this nuisance soon, or he might become homicidal. 'He's free now. Also, he's stupid, cheerful and extremely lucky. He'll work out a good deal for the Akutsu guy. Surely, Fuji doesn't hope for more, he's mostly _sane_ after all.'

Oshitari hopped off the table with a smirk. 'Consider it done, boss,' he said, giving Atobe a crooked salute. The nerve of him. 'Don'cha overwork yourself, though. Ya still gonna win, as always. Even though the prosecuting attorney will be Tezuka Kunimitsu.'

Atobe frowned, this being the only sign of his surprise at the information. So that was it. He was finally going to face a real challenge in court – the only man he actually considered as a threat, as a worthy opponent, a true _rival_, even if he's only met him once, and not even in the courtroom.

...

They were still at their first year of university back then; one of their courses consisted solely of watching the trials (live or on video alike) and discussing them. One of the trials brought on a particularly heated discussion; the case was very complicated, the trail of evidence intricate and clearly pointing to the culprit. The line of defence was lacking, the defence attorneys didn't even try hard enough, and of course, the outcome was no surprise.

Their professor introduced to them a group of students from the Waseda University who had also come to watch the trial; they were supposed to discuss what they'd seen, analyse it and come to conclusions everyone in both groups could agree to.

That didn't happen.

'To be honest,' started Atobe, always the first to generously present the world with his magnificent opinions, even when he was twenty (because age didn't matter when one was as perfect as himself), 'the defence didn't even try to make a point. They missed a lot of holes in the prosecution, as well as ignored the fact that the eye-witness wasn't certain that the accused was actually the offender. Furthermore, an alibi was mentioned, but not used to the defender's advantage, on the account of it being confirmed by "several family members only" - which leads us to believe that family members do not count as believable witness'. That being the case, the defence attorney should have demanded to dismiss the main witness of prosecution, who was, as we learned during her testimony, the defender's ex-wife, as well as the victim's sister. It was possible that she acted out of spite for the husband who left her, and lied in court about hearing him threatening his sister,' Atobe paused to look around the room triumphantly. 'All in all, if I were in the defender's position, I would find myself a new defence attorney and bring on an appellation. Chance is, his innocence can be proven by an attorney who knows what he's doing.'

'These are little details in the sea of evidence against the defender,' somebody spoke up. Atobe looked over at the man who dared call his claims "little details". He was not surprised to see it was nobody from his group. Instead, his opponent was a Waseda student, slightly taller than him, but of lithe build. He was staring Atobe down intensely from behind his glasses and there was something in that gaze that made Atobe want to fight him until the end, until one or both of them could not fight anymore. 'The DNA samples extracted from the sperm found on the corpse, as well as the fingerprints in the immediate vicinity, show us without doubt that the defender was there on the night when the murder took place – which he denied – and that he had a, consensual or otherwise, encounter with the victim. Which, as we have all heard, he also denied until presented with the evidence. The murder weapon – a decorative _wakizashi_ with a recently sharpened blade – has been proved to come from the murderer's personal collection. Of course, no fingerprints but his own have been discovered on the weapon. In this case, I am fairly positive that the real murderer has been convicted. The judge has dealt justice on the victim's behalf.'

'Well, while it is true that the weapon does come from the defender's collection, we cannot simply assume he is the murderer. Being an ancient history teacher and owning a collection of ancient swords is not very uncommon. Do we accuse anybody who collects potentially dangerous objects of murder? And what about murderers who take lives by means of strangulation? Does it mean owning a pair of hands automatically makes a person a future murderer? If that is the case, we should all go back to the courtroom and confess before the judge to our crimes. Oh, but wait – the judge, as I clearly saw with my own eyes, also has a pair of hands. Does that make also the judge a murderer?' Atobe drawled, purposefully making his tone more than slightly ironic. He heard chuckles from both his companions and the Waseda students.

However, his opponent wasn't to be deterred. He still wouldn't break eye contact, even when he knew he was being made fun of.

'You will make an excellent defence attorney,' he said finally. 'You serve us speeches with no meaning, caring nothing about the truth, about justice, but only about proving your point; it doesn't matter to you that the evidence points to one solution and one solution only. It doesn't matter to you that the defender finally admitted to being guilty. What does matter is that you could prove the innocence of a guilty man. Law is but a plaything for you, isn't it?'

Atobe chose not to dignify the question with a reply; however, he thought it very important to stress out his point. 'In Japan, ninety-nine per-cent of the suspects admit their guilt. Because the prosecution is given a lot of power, also in the matter of accepting and declining materials collected as evidence, the defence can not do much. This causes the suspects to confess, even if they are not guilty – they can not prove their innocence, especially in a society that hurries to judge a person even before a verdict is decided, but an admission of guilt can serve as both a way to receive a softer sentence, and as a gesture of taking responsibility for a crime, even if they did not commit it.'

'Then again,' said Atobe's opponent, a triumphant glint in his intense, cool gaze, 'isn't that what all the humans should do? Take responsibility for their actions. One does not end up a suspect for innocence. There is always a reason, a sin to atone for. A crime, be it heavy or light, that somebody has to pay for.'

With that, the bespectacled student finally looked away from Atobe and simply left, never waiting for a reply, which made Atobe furious.

His name was Tezuka Kunimitsu.

...

Later, Atobe learned that Tezuka chose the path of a prosecuting attorney. He'd never expected otherwise, of course, but for some reason, it made him excited, even if only slightly. The person that refused to back down from a challenge he presented, the man whose views on the same things varied so much, yet in the end, they both seemed to believe in Justice. Tezuka, as a prosecutor, would seek justice for the victims of crimes and their families, fighting and giving the fight his all to punish those who disobey the law and hurt others. Atobe, as a defence attorney, would seek justice for those wrongly charged, he would work day and night to find a way to prove their innocence.

They were natural enemies.

...

Atobe had had plenty of experience in court, acting as the defence attorney, pointing out the more and less obvious gaps in testimonies, abolishing poor evidence and eventually proving that his clients were not guilty of the crimes they were suspected of. He'd faced many prosecutors, but he'd mostly ignored them, because in the face of his magnificence and prowess, they cowered and couldn't put up serious fights.

This time, however, he knew was going to be different. He couldn't wait.

_Tezuka Kunimitsu... I'm going to crush you._

_

* * *

_

Tezuka Kunimitsu had a headache.

It was very late, or early, however one wanted to look at it; some time past four in the morning. Tezuka still had not left his office for the day (night?) and he didn't think he would have a chance to go home for many nights to come. At least until the day of the first hearing. After that first encounter with the defender and his attorney, he would probably grow peaceful enough to sleep for a few hours.

For now, he had too many things to take care of. He was assigned head prosecutor for this case; that meant a lot of trust was placed on him. He did not want to betray that trust, so he had to give it his best. Which he always did, anyway.

In his opinion, the case was rather simple: upon his release from prison, the defender felt the rush of freedom and _invincibility _that led him to grab a twelve year old girl, have his way with her and silence her so that she wouldn't tell anyone. He left nothing on the site of the crime that could point to him, but there were a lot of promising testimonies from various witnesses.

Tezuka knew he would win the case, of course. He always did. Even criminals had some remains of a sense of justice and eventually, after some prodding in the right direction, they would confess, because they knew it was the right thing to do. Tezuka never refrained from demanding the harshest punishments, when the criminals themselves were ready to atone for their crimes.

... although, he had to admit to himself, it was only partially true. He had no time to ponder on it, though. Not now.

The reason of his headache – and his unusual pre-trial nervousness – was the fact that he'd learned the name of the defence attorney who was going to represent the defender. Atobe Keigo of Atobe Corporation, the high and mighty, stuck-up, foolish man who either was stupid enough to trust that his clients really were as spotless as he made them out to be in court, or enough of a hypocrite not to care if they were guilty, as long as they paid him. Having met that man once, Tezuka was actually inclined to believe the former option; he remembered how convinced Atobe was of his rightfulness when they discussed that trial years ago. Of course, back then, he suspected Atobe was just naïve.

None of it mattered; as long as he was prepared, as long as he made sure his line of prosecution wasn't lacking in any detail, he would win. Because that was what Atobe did: he latched onto small details that he noticed with some incredible insight that he seemed to possess, and he drew attention to them, making others believe the details were actually important matters. That's how he'd won all his cases. He spotted and exploited weaknesses.

Tezuka would make sure he had no weakness to exploit.

A sudden noise outside his office – something that sounded suspiciously like a yell, followed by a rather loud "thud" - brought him out of his reverie. He sighed, feeling this was going to be a very long day – night? - indeed. With another sigh (and a yawn that he refused to acknowledge), he exited his office to deal with the matters at hand.

'Momoshiro, Kaidoh, either the two of you will cease the noise, or I will make you run _laps_ _around the building_,' said Tezuka when the two trainees assigned to him wouldn't stop their incessant arguing. It was downright annoying and if anything, it added to his already huge headache. Why, in the name of all that's holy, did he agree to take in trainees? And, while he was at that, why wasn't Sanada assigned any? They did work in the same building, in neighbouring rooms, _and_ Sanada was as competent as Tezuka himself was; why, then, was he the only one forced to suffer?

'Eh... boss? You wouldn't actually make us run laps, right?' Asked Momoshiro, the louder and more cheerful trainee who, as of right that moment, was on his way to a quick death. Quick, but also extremely painful. 'That wouldn't be cool, not cool at all!'

'Shut up, idiot,' hissed Kaidoh, the quiet and gloomy trainee, who seemed to trigger Momoshiro's temperamental bursts. Which also made him a candidate for the death row.

'Actually,' Tezuka said, removing his glasses before massaging his temples. 'Momoshiro, Kaidoh, twenty laps around the building. I will inform the guard to make sure you run them properly. If I hear you're slacking, I won't sign your probation papers.'

The two looked at each other, at Tezuka, at each other again, at Tezuka again – and decided this was no joke. So they took off to fulfil their task, throwing insults at one another like some middle school kids.

This was too much at four in the morning, Tezuka decided and resolved to have at least a half an hour of peace. Returning to his office, he locked the door, shut the window-blinds and removed the tons of documents littering his comfortable, leather sofa, the only luxury he'd indulged in. He lied down, discarding his glasses on the floor where he wouldn't step on them upon getting up, and closed his eyes, intending to take a short nap.

...

When he woke up, it was five, at least that was what the clock on his desk told him. He wondered how it was possible that after less than an hour of sleep he was this well-rested; was it the magic of his leather sofa, or something else?... As he put on his glasses, he realised that his headache was gone. This was clearly a miracle, or...

With a sense of dread, he reached for his cell phone. He almost swore. He had twenty six unanswered calls (he didn't bother to check who they were from; most probably, it was Sanada panicking about his whereabouts, and Momoshiro or Kaidoh doing the same) and it was five o'clock alright. Five o'clock PM.

He was preparing for what could prove to be the hardest case in his life, against the most difficult opponent he'd ever encountered, and he'd just wasted almost thirteen hours, sleeping soundly and ignoring the whole world.

True, he was well-rested, with a fresh mind and ready to take on the world (as his senpai at the university used to say after having slept through the entire lecture), but the hours he'd lost, he could not retrieve. Which meant he had no more time to waste.

He turned on the lights and unlocked the door. Then, he collected some of the documents from the floor and concentrated on work; the general outline of the prosecution was almost complete, but he had to be sure he didn't leave out any details.

Usually, he accepted help from others as something useful. This time, though, he felt it wouldn't be appropriate. Because he was going to battle Atobe Keigo, he had to prepare himself for this fight alone. If he gave it his best, it was going to prove the most intoxicating experience of his life...

_Intoxicating?... What am I even thinking..._

He shook his head, willing the unwanted thoughts away. He was not going back to _that_. He had important matters to take care of here. He could allow himself the leisure of _improper fantasies_ later, when the case was over, won and done with. Since when did he ever act this laid-back about important things, anyway? Something was wrong with him.

He suspected a diversion of some kind, really.

There was a knock on his door, a very characteristic one that Tezuka would have recognized without fail even if he'd lost his mind (which, by the way, he was sure was slowly happening to him). Then, without waiting for his answer, the visitor entered his office, actually strolling in like he owned the place – or like he was an oversized, bulky _and _grumpy bear. And he was one, too.

'Sanada,' Tezuka greeted, not even bothering to rise his head from the document he pretended to be completely immersed in. He knew how the other man hated when he did that – which was precisely why he kept doing it. He didn't care if it made him a petty bastard; he just didn't like Sanada. And Sanada felt the same about him. 'What brings you here?'

'Where were you?' Asked Sanada, with no sign of anything more than his normal irritation at life in his voice. 'The door was closed and you didn't answer your phone.'

'I was... working,' lied Tezuka, almost smoothly enough. He was aware Sanada wouldn't buy it. He didn't care much, though. 'I locked my door and put my phone on silent mode so that nobody would disturb me. I have an important case in a few days, after all, as opposing to a certain individual I know of.'

'Your brats, it seems, were worried about you. They toured the hospitals in the area and, when you weren't there, they tried to break down your door. I'm surprised you didn't notice, no matter how invested in work you were,' Sanada let his gaze rest on the empty sofa that still had a vaguely Tezuka-shaped dent in it's upholstery. Tezuka noticed, but didn't react in any way.

'If you have no business with me, would you care to leave? I happen to be busy,' he said softly. Remember, Tezuka: if you ignore it long enough, it will go away. Probably.

'I've brought you some more documents. It's a summary of the ways that Atobe guy works. If you learn his methods well enough, he will not be able to surprise you,' replied Sanada gruffly, handing him a thick folder. 'Everything is in there – the cases he took part in, the cases he led, everything listed, analysed and described.'

'... thank you,' Tezuka muttered, because such a big help from someone who hated him as much as Sanada did deserved at least a little gratitude.

'It's nothing,' said Sanada darkly. 'Just don't lose against him.'

_Of course I won't lose, _thought Tezuka after Sanada left him all alone with the tons of documents in his office again. _I won't get careless again like I did today. I'm going to give it my all and win._

* * *

Oshitari Yuushi was hungry.

It was a rather common state for him to be in; he was actually really happy that his best friend happened to be someone as rich as Atobe Keigo, because otherwise, even his own, quite fitting and satisfying salary might not have been enough to sate his hunger. During high-school and then at the university, pals used to call him a "bottomless pit". He figured they were right.

His miraculous metabolism worked to his favour, though, and no matter how much he stuffed himself with various foods, he didn't gain a single pound. Which was very good, because otherwise Atobe might have fired him on the offence of "sullying the company's image". Or something ridiculous like that. To be completely honest, it never ceased to amaze Oshitari that Atobe hadn't fired him yet. He certainly _was_ asking for it.

But now, he was hungry and something had to be done about it. Normally, he would bother Atobe until his friend ordered him some take-out from his favourite high-class restaurant, but he had a nagging suspicion that right now, it wouldn't work as effectively.

Atobe was too busy with his case against Tezuka Kunimitsu. Oshitari didn't get the obsession. Oh, he did remember the discussion the two had had years ago, at least he remembered there was one; but that was when they were just fresh fishes at the university. Who the hell cared for some student from another school who had a different opinion? Apparently, Atobe did. Maybe it had something to do with the heir's enormous ego that rarely allowed for him to occupy areas smaller than conference rooms. Yeah, probably.

Although, if Oshitari recalled correctly, that Tezuka guy was rather good looking. He didn't think looks alone could keep someone like Atobe interested for this long (after all, couldn't the heir have anybody he wanted at any given time, himself included?), but they certainly added to the general impression Tezuka had left on Atobe.

Or something.

Really, now. He was hungry. His mood was going downhill, along with his will to do any work (which was already low to begin with). And he was actually somewhat free, with no important case to work on right now. Only some woman accused of beating up her husband half to death with a frying pan when she'd found traces of lipstick on his shirt's collar. Too bad for her, it was her own lipstick. And even worse, the husband had a terrifying mother that decided to go to court to seek justice. Whatever.

Oshitari didn't think it could be any trouble at all. Most of the Japanese society had one thought when it came to married couples: they should resolve everything by themselves. Mothers-in-law should keep out, most definitely. Of course, things could go wrong if a competent prosecutor was put on the case, but Oshitari considered himself too much of a natural genius of the lawyering world to be bothered by such details.

He called Atobe.

'Yo, sweetie-pie, I'm gonna go grab me some lunch. Want something?' He asked in the best imitation of a woman's voice he could muster. Which was quite poor. Exactly what he was aiming for.

'Oshitari. I would advise you to approach the nearest window, open it and jump, but then again, I would have to call the cleaning service and explain to the press what happened. You're not worthy of so much trouble,' replied Atobe in a tone only slightly colder than usual. He must have been very, very tired. And easily irritated.

Oshitari wasn't a cruel bastard, though, no matter how much he _loved_ getting on Atobe's nerves. He decided to let this one opportunity slide. He was sure that before the big trial, he'd still have a lot of chances to make his best friend's life difficult.

'Chill, man. I'll bring you back a muffin,' he promised before hanging up; okay, he couldn't deny himself this one bit of pleasure. Atobe hated when anyone hanged up on him, depriving him of the last word in the conversation. Tough luck, Atobe.

...

It was not before he left the building that Oshitari decided to check his funds and discovered the rather disappointing fact – he only had some change, because his wallet was still on his desk twenty floors away from him. And his almost legendary laziness wouldn't let him go back and get it. Especially since Atobe was somewhere in there and could, out of sheer spite, force him to work some. That would be most unwelcome.

Where could he eat a lot for the ridiculously small amount that he was in possession of? He looked around and sighed in defeat. The area was littered with office buildings, belonging to great corporations, both in private hands (like Atobe Corporation) and belonging to the country. Of course there was no place there for a little back-alley shop that could serve him... kimchi?

He stared.

Right between two of the most modern, tallest sky-scrapers in the area, there was a shabby little Korean restaurant. Normally, Oshitari wouldn't even look it's way, but this was not a normal situation; plus, the big menu on a yellow cardboard in one of the windows said he had enough money for a big helping of kimchi. And he kind of almost liked kimchi. So, of course he decided to try it out (and at this point, he could probably only be deterred if he'd found out they based their recipes on cockroach broth or something).

The restaurant looked much better inside than it did from the outside; instead of shabby, it was tidy and very cosy. There were four tables, each secluded in it's own way, so that the guests could have some privacy in the small space; and the man at the counter appeared downright great when he offered Oshitari a double helping for the same price, since he was a first-time customer.

The bespectacled genius paid for his meal at the counter and chose a table to sit at. Not that he had much to choose from; the other three were busy, all of them occupied by men in suits much like his own (although he liked to believe that his own looked much cooler simply because of his person inside it). He must have misjudged the place. With such customers, it probably wasn't as bad as he'd thought.

A man entered the shop, and Oshitari instantly thought he'd met him somewhere before. He had no idea why he'd thought that; his mind helpfully supplied that maybe it was because the man was handsome. And completely his type - tall, manly and serious, as opposing to a certain drama queen heir he was forced to deal with on daily basis.

The man ordered something and paid before looking around and noticing there was no free table. He didn't seem to be very bothered by the fact; quite the opposite, after a moment of weighing his options, the man probably reached a conclusion – and directed his steps to Oshitari's table.

'Mind if I join you?' He asked. Oshitari thought he recognized the timbre of his voice, but he still had no inkling as to where he could've heard it. 'This table is the only one with just one person occupying it.'

'Nah, I don't mind at all,' replied Oshitari, giving the man a bright smile. A bright smile that went unanswered – or, to put it bluntly, ignored, which made the bespectacled attorney completely revise his opinion of the somewhat-familiar stranger. He gave the man an offended look as he was sitting down, not intending to say one more word to him ever again.

His offended look got noticed and even warranted a reaction: a raised eyebrow. So Oshitari did the only thing that came to his mind – he stuck his tongue out like a pre-school kid (almost - he didn't stick it out all the way, because he had a tongue piercing he didn't want the outside world to see. Atobe would positively castrate him with a spoon for ruining the reputation of the company). Well, he didn't care what the other man thought of him. It's not like they'd meet again. And if they did, tough luck, whatever.

A cute and extremely shy waitress brought him his order; she smiled at him gently, but ran away when he smiled back. Oshitari couldn't really blame her. Not many girls were able to withstand his awesomeness. Still smiling, he looked at his food.

And then, he grinned like a maniac, before promptly digging in. Oh gods. This not only had to be the biggest helping of kimchi he'd ever seen... this was actually the most delicious food he could recall ever eating. How the hell could he had lived without knowing about this little restaurant which offered such godly kimchi? It was so going to become his regular eating place!

He hadn't even liked kimchi all that much. But this was too awesome. Something about the taste made him want to savour every bite, instead of wolfing down the meal like he usually did. It was as if he weren't actually a busy lawyer, but a person with all the time in the world to sit casually in the small shop and enjoy his food.

He almost didn't notice when the annoying guy sitting with him got his own food, but because the table wasn't very big, the other plate got into his line of vision. It looked the same as his own kimchi, but the helping, while still big enough, was considerably smaller than his own. Ah, yes, the double helping for first-time customers.

He wished he could always be a first-time customer.

Finding out that his food had not only deliciously cooked meat, but some well-spiced tuna as well, Oshitari decided he'd never been happier in his life. Oh, he was going to _buy_ the restaurant and make them cook only for him. He didn't need any of Atobe's high-class, overpriced places for stuck-ups. This here was so much better. Maybe he hadn't exactly been a big fan of kimchi before, but now he was.

'You look genuinely happy,' his table companion said and only then did Oshitari notice that he was being watched. 'The food is to your liking? Make sure you tell Mr Kim on your way out. He'll be delighted and will always make your helpings extra-big if you compliment it enough.'

Oshitari swallowed what he had in his mouth before replying (because otherwise, he might get called a pig – something Atobe frequently called him with a disgusted expression on his face), 'Really? Woah, thanks for the advice. I'll be sure to do that,' he smiled brightly. Maybe not everything was lost. Maybe the other man wasn't that bad. Even if he was rather rude for completely not falling to his knees at Oshitari's feet when he smiled. Because he totally should. 'How can such an amazing place be so little known, anyway? I've worked here for over a year, but only just found it.' He asked, curious; he figured somebody who'd known the place before him could have an idea.

'In truth, I don't know. I've been referred by somebody from work, who seems to have found it by accident. I believe Mr Kim just really doesn't want to expand the shop. He enjoys getting to know his customers, which would be impossible in a big, famous restaurant,' explained the man. Oshitari really enjoyed his deep voice. Which he'd heard somewhere before. He was sure of it.

'Why would he enjoy getting to know the customers? Aren't they all a bunch of boring lawyers?' Asked Oshitari with a little smirk. By saying it like this, he indicated he didn't associate himself with the boring people; he considered himself as a highly fascinating individual.

'How are lawyers boring?' Countered the man with a question of his own. 'We live our days, fighting each other in court and beyond, battling for the sake of people who either can't do it by themselves, or pay us enough to make it worth our effort. Mr Kim likes to hear about it, because even though we aren't supposed to talk about our clients, we still do; this job would stifle us if we couldn't tell somebody from the outside what it's really about.'

Oshitari supposed that he didn't feel this way because he was much too laid back about his own work. He wondered if he'd ever had a case he'd really taken seriously; he doubted it. His talent and quick wit made it possible to win every court-case he'd had, even when he wasn't fully prepared. He rather liked it that way.

'I've got a friend who doesn't talk much about his cases even to me, and we work together,' he said, grinning at the thought of Atobe, who was most likely still compiling some boring stuff for the case against Tezuka. 'He's practically obsessed. He hasn't left the conference room for days, he inhales coffee and looks like a panda with those circles under his eyes,' he laughed softly and was pleased to learn that this warranted a smile. The other man was even more handsome when he smiled.

'I know a person like that, too. Since he's learned his next trial will be against someone he considers his rival – and they have only met once, years ago, mind you – he's been locked up in his office, making sure he has the most perfect indictment ever created for the purpose of one case,' said the man, shaking his head. 'My other co-workers seem to think it's not as much rivalry on his part as it is a rather giant crush, developed during university and never really gone. I think it's his business to worry, not anyone else's.'

Oshitari didn't think the man liked his co-workers – along with the obsessed one with a crush on his rival (which, to him, sounded kind of awfully familiar) – very much. Which was all for the best. He enjoyed himself a little challenge once in a while.

'So, you're a prosecutor?' He asked, totally carefree, as he searched his plate for another piece of meat. Or tuna. But it really seemed he only had cabbage and chilli left. Oh well. He liked chilli.

'Yes. I figured you would have realised that by now, Mr Oshitari, since we have already met once, two weeks ago on the conference with the judges,' said the man, making Oshitari blink in confusion. What? 'My name is Sanada Genichirou. And I will be your opponent during the trial that starts in less than a week. Be sure to come prepared.'

Oshitari choked on a chilli pepper.

* * *

Sanada Genichirou really liked his work. He didn't treat it as a mission against the evil and corrupted world – that was what Tezuka did – but he did know that by doing his best, he helped create something good – justice. Contrary to his co-worker, though, he didn't think justice always came in the form of punishing the defenders, regardless of their guilt; sometimes, he felt good when he lost a case, because during it's course he'd learned without doubt that the defender was innocent.

This, he thought, was justice – punishing the guilty and defending the innocent. This was what the prosecutors and the defence attorneys were for: to work their hardest in order to find out the truth.

Tezuka, he supposed, didn't care much about the truth, as long as he could execute his little vengeance against the world in his line of work. He'd never lost a case; Sanada saw with his own eyes what Tezuka's relentlessness could do to suspects, who usually broke down and confessed after only one trial against the vindictive prosecutor. They weren't always guilty. Tezuka didn't think it mattered.

That man was a crusader. Had always been.

He settled to work on his own case. The woman who beat up her husband with a frying pan served to amuse him, really; when he'd read about the incident in the newspapers, he thought this was completely ridiculous. And then, he learned that he was to lead the case and fight for the man's rights in court. That's when it stopped being very funny.

He had to admit, though, that Oshitari Yuushi gave him some hope for the whole ordeal to go back to it's highly amusing state; he couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of his lunch-time companion choking on a piece of kimchi at learning his identity. Not to mention, Sanada had in fact noticed how Oshitari checked him out; it was both interesting and slightly pleasant (after all, Oshitari was a rather attractive man himself), if not a bit disturbing. Actually, it might had been more disturbing, had Sanada not been used to receiving such stares (along with rather indecent proposals) from one of his co-workers.

Speaking of which, the problematic co-worker, Niou Masaharu, was supposed to bring him some pretty important papers from the court-house's library. The documents weren't on his desk as of yet, which meant one of the two things: either Niou ignored a direct order (and would have hell to pay), or he brought the documents and misplaced them somewhere, most probably on Yagyuu Hiroshi's desk. Since the documents really were important – they were police reports on the couple his case concerned, and even their existence was proof enough that they made a dysfunctional little family, clearly, he needed them.

Which is why he decided to go and get them from Yagyuu's desk himself, or, if they were not there, to ask him where Niou might have disappeared to. Seeing as those two seemed generally joined at the hip (or as close to it as possible), Sanada supposed he would find out the answer. Even if he had to disturb Yagyuu's own work for a few minutes.

...

When he arrived at the man's office and entered it without knocking (he always did that, with the exception of Tezuka's office, which he entered after knocking), he mechanically apologised for getting in the way of his work. He didn't imagine Yagyuu was getting much work done, though, not with Tezuka seated quite comfortably in his lap, shoving his tongue down Yagyuu's throat... wait, _what_?

'Are you two having fun?' Sanada asked in a threatening tone. Because while he was sure the whole world was actually gay for Tezuka (himself excluded), he was also quite aware that Tezuka was most definitely not gay for the whole world. Nor for any part of it. Frankly speaking, he supposed hell would rather freeze over than Tezuka would go around kissing his co-workers. Which left only one option. 'Niou!'

Ah, there. The person he'd thought was Tezuka finally stopped sucking on Yagyuu's face and Sanada could see the tell-tale mole on his chin.

'Ah, boss,' greeted Niou, known also as the Trickster, the most annoying person Sanada had ever worked with. He was kind of famous for impersonating others almost perfectly, and he used this skill of his whenever he thought it might be fun. Sometimes, he served as a spy to help the prosecution, although Sanada rarely used his information; it was something Tezuka did, most often, because Tezuka did everything to win. 'I didn't get the files. The Atobe Corporation has them borrowed until tomorrow,' he said with a lazy grin. His partner, Yagyuu – one of the most serious, hard-working lawyers Sanada had had the pleasure of meeting, too – seemed to roll his eyes.

'You'll go and get them tomorrow, then. And don't let Tezuka see you like this,' advised Sanada. 'He'd make you run laps around the building, stripped down to your underwear.'

'Kinky, I like it,' decided Niou and licked his lips.

'I'm sure you do.'

...

Sanada didn't have anything to do. He couldn't work on his case, because he missed the documents he needed. He couldn't go home, either, since it would make him feel very guilty about all the people still in their offices who could use some help – especially Tezuka. He had no intention of really helping Tezuka, though; first of all, the other man wouldn't want him to, and second – he absolutely hated Tezuka's guts. Always had, since the time they'd started attending the exact same courses on the university.

At the same time, for a reason he couldn't really comprehend, he was kind of Tezuka's best friend. Which sucked, because Tezuka wasn't exactly good friend material. The man was stern and cold, keeping to himself as much as he could, always posing as the strong, unwavering leader.

It was annoying even to Sanada, who might not had been a party person himself, but at least he knew when to take a break. And he actually did things like taking some time off. He usually didn't work overnight, too, being of the opinion that he deserved his rest as much as other humans did. Wasn't it essential that his mind was well-rested before he prepared for a battle against another excellent lawyer in order not to lose? It was.

Now, however, it would be really stupid to take a break. Oshitari Yuushi, the genius defence attorney from Atobe Corporation, could prove quite a threat in court. He was known as one of the most dangerous adversaries, the genius of defence, who could defeat even the best line of prosecution just because of his brilliance. And, admittedly, thanks to his good looks.

Sanada didn't like it one bit, of course.

He was all for working hard to get a job done well. People like Oshitari, who spent days doing nothing and won everything in life just by smiling... well, the concept didn't agree with him at all. Because of that, he needed to be a perfectionist during the trial against the man; Atobe Corporation aimed to win, and while Sanada didn't think this was exactly a bad thing, he didn't want to lose because of being unprepared.

He needed those documents, damn it. Why, exactly, couldn't Niou go to Atobe Corporation and copy them? Ah, yes, right - because Niou was a lazy ass who'd do anything to avoid work. He'd be an excellent prosecutor if he'd just devoted half of the energy he wasted on useless things, to doing his job. He didn't seem to care enough.

He was useful, though. He probably knew it, too.

Back to the matter at hand, though - Sanada had nothing to do, and because of that, he was rather annoyed. He never thought his job could prove boring, but well, it sometimes did. He had more cases he supposed he could try to work on...

Except that, well, this one case was in less than a week's time and he was not ready to take on the defence attorney who supposedly could work miracles in the courtroom. That's why he hated the policy of his superiors, who never let him use the Internet as a reliable source of information. He was sure he'd find enough old reports - maybe even newspaper articles - about the unlucky couple in the net, and yet he had to wait for Atobe Corporation to be kind enough to return the stupid files to the court library.

Actually, he wondered if Oshitari did it on purpose, out of spite. It seemed a likely revenge for the little incident at the kimchi bar; on the other hand, though, it was just a tad too petty a thing to associate with the rather laid-back man. So maybe it was all just a coincidence.

Which still left Sanada with nothing to do. Sometimes, he wished he were assigned trainees. At least then, he'd have somebody to yell at when he was frustrated.

After contemplating yelling at Tezuka (which would, by the way, be a very stupid thing to do, because Tezuka would just look at him as if he'd lost his mind, and say nothing), Sanada decided to give it a rest.

He still had a few days. Tomorrow, he was going to get those files and prepare the strongest line of prosecution available in such a case. Oshitari Yuushi was so NOT going to have a chance against him, no matter how much of a genius he was.

Sanada went home, making sure Tezuka knew about it. The satisfaction upon seeing the honest envy on the other man's face was enough to brighten his mood.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Justice

**Chapter:** 2/?

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis

**Pairing(s):** eventual Atobe/Tezuka, Sanada/Oshitari (with some past Atobe/Oshitari and Sanada/Tezuka, as well as a bit of OT4 in the future), Akutsu/Sengoku

**Genre:** AU, action, suspense, thriller

**Rating:** Mature (R-NC17)

**Warnings:** it's a lawyer AU, so it mentions crimes: murder, rape, drugs, others; also, some swearing; sexual content in later chapters (will be warned for accordingly)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Prince of Tennis manga, anime or any other media related to the original work. I am not associated with the authors. I make no profit writing this story; I'm doing it for fun.

**Summary:** Lawyer AU. The courtroom is a battlefield, where the defence and the prosecution fight battles to deliver Justice. A chain of seemingly coincidental events sets in motion something deadly for all the clueless participants. BL, Atobe/Tezuka, Sanada/Oshitari, Akutsu/Sengoku.

**A/N: **A new chapter after a year~! That must be something of a record.

* * *

Sengoku Kiyosumi was known in the world of lawyers as "lucky Sengoku" for a reason. Somehow, he was always capable of negotiating deals in favour of his clients, no matter how hard the case would initially present itself as. That was why the Atobe Corporation was determined to keep him at all costs, paying him more than he would earn anywhere else since he had actually never won a case in his life. What mattered to the corporation was that he had never lost a case, either, which fit right into the company's policy. They didn't care how he did it, they simply expected him to have the charges against his clients dropped before the first trial at the latest.

Of course, he always succeeded in the end, even if the accusing party was in no mood for negotiations in the beginning of the procedures. He could even say that he was a specialist in hopeless cases. That was, after all, why the corporation had assigned him one Akutsu Jin three months ago.

The guy was a nutter, as far as Sengoku was concerned. Their first meeting had been downright scary, with Akutsu's reactions varying from glaring at him as he introduced himself, to threatening him with his fists, all during the course of five minutes, in which Sengoku had only been doing as much as trying to explain to him what charges there were against him and what the best course of action would be.

Usually, Sengoku had been able to befriend his clients, who, after all, wanted to get off the hook just as much as he wanted them off of it. Needless to say, that was out of question with the violent Akutsu, whose attitude didn't seem to change at all, even as they reluctantly got to know each other better during the weeks since their first meeting, and as the date of the first trial drew closer.

'You need to understand that without a proper apology, that guy won't even hear you out,' Sengoku said one beautiful morning in his favourite café, where he had invited Akutsu in order to try and reason with him. Up until then, all of his efforts - including the delicious iced coffee he'd bought for his client - had been in vain. Either Akutsu Jin had a particularly thick skull that didn't let any info get through, or he had been hit on his head one time too many during one of the countless brawls he had participated in. Either way, nothing Sengoku would say seemed to sink into his brain.

'Don't you tell me what to do, idiot,' Akutsu hissed at him. At least he recognized the fact that the lawyer was on his side, which made him contain most of his violent tendencies. That didn't use to be the case when they had first met; the lawyer could still remember the sound of a glass thrown his way by his client, shattering on the wall mere centimetres from his own head. The incident had been vaguely traumatizing. 'I'm not apologizing. Only pansies do that.'

'Better a pansy out here than a tough guy in prison,' Sengoku said, exasperated. Seriously, the guy had way too much pride for a street punk. 'You seem to forget that this is a serious breach of the conditions of your parole, and if the other guy presses charges, you have no chance. Face it, even if you had your reasons for beating him up, the court is unlikely to let you off. You've been tried for similar incidents before, you've been sentenced once but got out on good behaviour. He is the son of your mother's boss, never charged with anything. He's got the advantage in court, not you,' the lawyer explained, wondering briefly where his unusual amount of patience had come from.

'Listen, I don't care. That guy deserved it and I'm not apologizing. I don't care if I'm going back to prison, it's not that bad there anyway,' said Akutsu, shrugging.

It was surreal, Sengoku thought, how there he was, sitting in a high-class café with a noted delinquent, caring more about the guy's fate than he himself seemed to. They even looked surreal in each other's company, Sengoku in his pristine navy blue suit, with only the top button of his shirt open and his tie loosened to give him a more relaxed feeling, and Akutsu in his sleeveless top that showed off his muscled arms and an intricate tattoo of a dragon's head on his shoulder, and a pair of baggy jeans, with his longish hair dyed silver and styled to stand up. Yeah, they definitely made an unlikely pair.

Sengoku sighed. How could he get through to that guy, when they were from completely different worlds? Akutsu, who only gave a damn about the laws of the street, probably really believed he was in the right. Sengoku was also inclined to believe him, since it was easier to act from that point. He disliked his client's supposed victim, that much was certain.

He shuddered at the memory of that man. Usually, his opponents for negotiations were people who simply wanted to be compensated for the damage done to them by his clients. This man, Shimazu Yoshiaki, seemed to marvel at the thought of Akutsu grovelling at his feet, asking for forgiveness. He was not interested in anything Sengoku had to say until Akutsu apologized, and only then would he even consider a deal, and he had a particularly nasty aura about him as he was saying that. It wasn't supposed to go like this, but seeing as the man would not change his mind, Sengoku was working hard on his client.

'What did that guy do to you to drive you into this situation, anyway? I mean, it must have been pretty serious if you're willing to go to prison for this,' Sengoku wondered out loud, watching Akutsu drink his hazelnut iced coffee with an enraged expression, as if the beverage had insulted him personally. It was, to an extent, adorable, but not as much as it was amusing.

'You wouldn't believe me anyway. I'm a convicted criminal, remember? It's my word against his, and it's not like the bastard's in any hurry to tell the truth,' Akutsu replied with contempt, much to Sengoku's surprise, as he hadn't actually expected an answer of any kind.

'You can always try me, you know. I am here to help you, whether you believe it or not,' the lawyer said sincerely. Maybe he did think Akutsu had some serious mental problems, but he was still the guy's defence attorney, and he wasn't about to make light of anything that could be in favour to his client.

'Maybe I will tell you,' Akutsu said, his tone mocking as he sneered at Sengoku. 'But first, you'd have to sleep with me, pretty-face,' he drawled unpleasantly and got up to his feet. 'I'm going. You're boring, ginger,' he announced and left the café, ignoring Sengoku's protests.

* * *

_Really_, Sengoku thought, _I'm going to murder that buffoon. _

It had been three days since they last met in the café next to the Atobe Corp. building and it seemed Akutsu had taken to ignoring Sengoku's calls. Twice already was the redhead ready to go to his client's place, but company business kept him occupied. This time, however, he was sure nothing was to call him back to the company. He'd finished most of his paperwork that needed urgent attention. He had even given his secretary a day off, because that way, she wouldn't be able to remind him of any prior arrangements he'd forgotten about.

This afternoon, he only had one appointment, and he was not cancelling it no matter what.

Akutsu, as it turned out, lived in a particularly lousy neighbourhood. It was already getting dark when he arrived there, so Sengoku was rather glad that he had dismissed the idea of going to his client's place formally dressed and chose to wear a more casual attire, which was still out of place where he'd found himself. He had been bothered twice before he managed to find the right apartment block, once by an old, unpleasantly smelling beggar and once by a youngster who tried to mug him. Sengoku supposed he was lucky he used to be a boxing champion during his high school days.

Anyway, somehow, he managed to reach the right building. He entered it a little hesitantly, since it didn't look much more inviting than a drunkard's den, but what other choice did he have? He needed to talk some sense into his bastard of a client.

Finding the right door on the third floor (the building, of course, didn't have an elevator, so he was considerably exhausted after the effort of climbing a hundred stairs; at that moment, he swore to himself that he would start jogging for sure, to improve his pitiful condition), he knocked three times. When there was no reply, he pushed the doorbell, intent on not letting go until he had some desired results. The buzz was shrill, and it seemed to be pretty irritating to the inhabitant of the flat on the other side of the door, since Sengoku heard some loud swearing and a crash of something falling.

Then, the door opened and the lawyer had the first glimpse of his client after three days of no contact.

Akutsu was naked, save for a bed sheet tied at his waist; his silver-dyed hair was down and his tattoo was actually of a whole, mighty red dragon, spreading all across his broad back, contrasting sharply against deathly pale skin. Sengoku would have gaped at him in a mixture of surprise and reluctant awe, but he had no chance.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' Akutsu growled, but pulled him roughly inside his flat by the collar of his t-shirt and shut the door closed behind him.

'You didn't deem it necessary to pick up when I called you many times, so I decided to come and check up on you,' Sengoku replied calmly, even though he was almost certain Akutsu was going to punch him. Or do something equally painful to him. 'Nice place you have here,' he added, looking around the tiny, cluttered hall. The only interesting thing about it was the huge mirror behind Akutsu, which enabled him to see the whole intricate tattoo on his client's back. He decided _not _to admire it too openly.

'You're out of your fucking mind,' Akutsu told him angrily, still holding onto the collar of his t-shirt, making breathing slightly difficult. 'You have no idea what kind of people live around here. You could have been killed for your fancy phone or your stupid clothes!'

'The only person attempting to kill me,' Sengoku said, rising his eyebrow, 'is you.'

Akutsu let go of him, but he looked positively furious. Sengoku wondered what was wrong with him... or rather, what was more wrong with him now than it usually was, but he didn't feel as if asking about it would be the best idea at the moment. Instead, he started casually removing his shoes.

'Well, now that we cleared this up,' he said, giving Akutsu a smile, 'let us move on to some more pressing subjects. Like your trial, which is unfortunately drawing closer and which you will, without a doubt, lose sorely because you refuse to stop being a stubborn bastard. Anywhere in here I can take a seat?'

'Kitchen,' muttered Akutsu and led him to a small, untidy kitchenette. At least he could take a seat on the one chair that wasn't broken, and set some papers he'd taken with him on the table. 'Wait here. You move your ass from here, I'll kill you,' Akutsu warned and quickly left to another room.

Sengoku wasn't sure if he should take Akutsu's threat seriously or not; he didn't really believe his client would hurt him, no matter how angry he was with him, because honestly, he could have done that many times before and he never did. However, he thought it in his best interest to keep the other man in a somewhat good mood, since he hoped it would make it easier to talk him into taking some necessary steps in his case.

He curiously looked around the small kitchen; it was filthy and had all the markings of being owned by a single man who had no idea how to cook, clean and wash the dishes, or who simply didn't care enough to be bothered by the mess. The sink was full of dirty plates, some of which looked weeks old; this might have been the reason for the rather unpleasant stench in the air. This or the fact that nobody had emptied the dustbin for a long time. Honestly, if the whole flat looked like this, Sengoku could understand why Akutsu preferred to go to prison. It surely was cleaner there.

With a sigh, he got up and approached the sink cautiously. He found a dishcloth under a particularly impressive tower of plates; a bottle of wash-up liquid stood inconspicuously to the side, still sealed. Sengoku opened it and got to work, overcoming his initial disgust at the putrid smell that filled the tiny space as he moved the filthy pile.

He was almost done when he thought he heard a female voice over the running water, so he turned it off; indeed, a woman was shouting obscurities in the hall. Mindless of Akutsu's warning, Sengoku went to look what was going on, the dishcloth still in his wet hands; he couldn't help it, he was a curious guy by nature.

He came face to face with a girl; she was scantily dressed and might have been pretty, but it was hard to tell with the rather overdone make up and the expression of anger that contorted her features. When she saw Sengoku, she paused, shocked, and then regarded Akutsu, looking even more furious.

'So you're ditching me for some pretty boy? Didn't know you were a fag, Akutsu!' She mocked. 'Well have fun with your little boy toy! You suck in bed anyway!' She made a rude gesture in the general direction where Akutsu stood, and then she stormed off from the small apartment, slamming the door closed behind her.

'Err...' Said Sengoku lamely, wishing he could vanish without a trace; he was pretty sure that Akutsu was, in fact, going to be true to his word and kill him, possibly in a very painful way.

However, Akutsu was full of surprises. 'Screw that bitch. She's the one who sucks in bed,' he said indifferently, shrugging. 'What the fuck are you doing, ginger? Washing the fucking dishes? You're insane. Or do you think that if you clean my mess, I will be so grateful that I'll gladly do whatever you ask me to? Because I won't. I don't fucking care about the fucking mess.'

'Nah. It was just bothering me,' Sengoku said somewhat defiantly. 'You should clean up once in a while, though,' he added as an afterthought.

'Don't you tell me what to do,' Akutsu growled irritably. 'Just sit your ass in the fucking kitchen and wait there. I need a shower, that bitch threw an opened can of beer at me.'

'I can see that,' the lawyer replied, but he was talking to himself, since Akutsu had already gone too the bathroom.

The day was getting more interesting with every minute, indeed.

* * *

At least Akutsu was more willing to listen to whatever he had to say after he had a shower, which was one positive thing in the sea of negativities. Sengoku really needed his client to understand the situation, but the man simply refused to cooperate. It was all the more frustrating, because the lawyer's career could be threatened if the outcome of the whole ordeal wasn't positive; after all, this annoying guy who didn't seem to care at all about his future was a childhood friend of somebody who had connections at the top of the Corporation. If Sengoku screwed this up, he was done with.

Maybe thinking about his career when his client was facing a long sentence in prison was rather selfish, but the problem was, Akutsu didn't seem to care and it irritated Sengoku very much. Here he was, working his ass off, trying to make Shimazu change his mind about the whole thing (to no avail, unfortunately), and his client ignored his efforts, dismissing it all like some irrelevant, bothersome problem that would eventually go away on its own.

'By the way, you can't just stop accepting my calls,' the lawyer said, looking up from the papers at Akutsu, who was preparing coffee or something, still topless, but at least wearing pants. He didn't even bother to dry his hair. 'You need to be in contact with me, or you will have additional charges pressed against you. They're all too willing to accuse you of attempted escape or something, you don't want to give them basis for that, do you?'

'I don't really care,' Akutsu replied, sounding bored. 'You want tea or coffee?' He asked, and his tone suggested that Sengoku better wanted one or the other if he preferred to remain unhurt.

'Uh... tea, I suppose,' the redhead decided, although he was in no mood for any drinks, with the exception of the alcoholic ones. 'Listen, now. I know you enjoy being difficult and badass, but this is getting ridiculous. Shimazu said he'd agree to a deal if you apologized for what you've done. That's the only thing you have to do, the rest is up to me. I can get you out of this, but you have to co-operate!'

Akutsu chuckled. 'You seem to enjoy telling me what to do, don't you?' He asked, apparently amused. All of a sudden, though, he turned to face Sengoku, slamming a fist to the wall next to the lawyer's head with enough force to hurt himself. With the corner of his eye, Sengoku could catch a glance at the blood oozing out of the man's injured hand, but he didn't dare say a word or even look away from Akutsu's face, from the grimace of rage that adorned it.

'I'm fucking fed up with your shit,' Akutsu said in a low, dangerous voice, barely above a whisper. 'I'm not apologizing to that bastard, and it's not your fucking business. You think I don't know what you care about? The money you're getting for this is all that matters to you. I know your kind and I don't give a fuck about your money. You're not telling me what to do, pretty face, if you don't want me to mess you up.'

Sengoku cleverly remained silent. This was the closest Akutsu had been to seriously hurting him and he was not going to risk anything happening. He supposed he might have underestimated his client, believing him to be mad and not overly bright. He wished now that he was back at his office, drinking coffee and making fun of Oshitari's new-found, unhealthy obsession with kimchi, without a care in the world.

His luck had to run out at one point or another.

'What, you say nothing for a change?' Akutsu asked and backed off, before breaking out into laughter that didn't sound particularly sane. 'You finally scared of me? _Good!_ You should be! But you shouldn't stop talking, ginger, what do you think you're getting paid for? Your pretty face?'

'Calm down,' Sengoku said softly. 'You're bleeding. I'll bandage it if you want.'

He wondered if Akutsu would punch him for this, but no blow came; instead, the other man threw him a first-aid kit from one of the kitchen cupboards, still laughing. Rummaging through it without a word, Sengoku thanked his good luck for hopefully letting him survive this, possibly unscathed, in advance. He wasn't really that afraid of his client; he was quite positive that when it came to exchanging blows, he would be able to at least give back as much as he received, since he remembered most of his experiences from boxing trainings in high school. He preferred to avoid that, though; getting into a brawl with the man he was supposed to be defending from going to prison didn't place high on his mental list of reasonable things to do as an attorney.

He found a small bottle of iodine (half-empty, as he noted dully) and a packet of gauze; he couldn't locate any bandages in the kit, but he supposed he could work with what he had. Akutsu helpfully offered him his hand, still clenched into a fist, bleeding at the knuckles. Shaking his head at the general weirdness of this situation, Sengoku started cleaning the wounds.

'It stings,' Akutsu complained in a low hiss. Sengoku rose an eyebrow at that, but didn't comment, deciding that his opinion on men who acted like overgrown children because of a small wound that _stung_ when cleaned wouldn't be met with much enthusiasm.

'It's iodine, of course it stings,' the lawyer said instead, gently prodding at the wound with the gauze. 'Next time, control your outbursts, then I won't have to fix any injuries and nothing will sting.'

'Shut up,' Akutsu muttered. 'It's none of your business.'

'Oh, but it is. It's me that puts you back together, see?' Sengoku discarded the gauze and grinned. 'There, almost done, at least it won't sting anymore. Let me just stick on a plaster...' He reached for said item into the kit.

The plaster had a print of smiling, colourful bears. Amazingly, Akutsu didn't protest against it very much, although he did glare at it rather darkly. Sengoku didn't comment on that, either. He was slowly learning when it was better to keep his mouth shut in the company of his lovely, friendly client; that lazy bum Oshitari would be surprised, since he always kept saying that Sengoku's inability to shut up would be the cause of his sudden, violent death one day. As if he really had room to say that, he was probably the biggest chatterbox in the Corporation himself! And he had a penchant for teasing Atobe Keigo of all people. As far as Sengoku was concerned, it was Oshitari who played with fire, not him.

Well, okay, he also played with fire. A lot. A pale, silver-haired, tattooed fire that was making his life slightly more miserable than it ought to be.

'So, you definitely won't be apologizing,' Sengoku said, sighing, after some time of companionable silence. 'That's pretty tough. Not lucky at all. Shimazu won't listen to me, then.' He shook his head, ignoring Akutsu, who was glaring at him for no reason at all. 'Well, I can always try appealing to the judge. He's not very likely to let us off on a deal, but maybe he would be inclined to lessen the punishment if I used the right arguments... Let me tell you one thing, though,' he looked straight at his client. 'I'm so going to get fired because of you.'

'You can still drop my case,' said Akutsu. 'I don't care. It's not like I'm paying you or anything.'

'Nah, I think I'll stick with you to the end. Maybe you'll change your mind,' Sengoku replied and laughed softly.

'I won't,' Akutsu declared. 'What are you laughing at? You hit your head or something?'

'No, no. It's just... it's funny. You're the most troublesome client I've ever had, you didn't even want to be my client to begin with. You threaten to hurt me all the time and you're a general pain in the ass, but I really want to help you. You see?' Sengoku chuckled again. 'Man, I should have chosen a different career path.'

'You should have signed yourself into a mental institution,' Akutsu said, eyeing him as though he was the mental one between the two of them. 'It would have saved me lots of trouble. And I would have had a girl tonight.' He glared some more.

'Yeah, well, sorry about that? You left me no choice but to come here, though,' Sengoku actually felt sheepish. After all, he had invaded his client's privacy. Coming over to his apartment, barging in and washing his dirty dishes wasn't very professional. At least he could always call it "his signature, unconventional methods" and go on, like he always did. His superiors would probably accept his explanation.

Of course, that was under the condition that he succeeded. Somehow, he didn't really think this was going to be the case right now.

'I need to get going,' he said, getting up. Man, the chairs in that kitchenette were comfortable, even though they didn't look it at all. 'You be a good boy and behave, and pick up if I call you again, alright?'

'Don't you tell me what to do,' replied Akutsu, which was very predictable. And then, 'I'll go with you. You're not going to walk around here with that pretty face of yours. No discussions,' he added sharply when he saw Sengoku open his mouth.

'But it's okay, really!' Sengoku protested either way, ignoring the fact that the man's glare intensified. 'You can't get into any more fights anyway, and I can take care of myself. I'm petty good at...' He never did get to tell Akutsu what exactly he was good at, since at that exact moment, the other man shoved him hard against the wall and, ignoring the lawyer's struggle, kissed him on the lips.

It was surprisingly soft at first, and Sengoku was too shocked to react, and Akutsu used this to his advantage, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into Sengoku's mouth; that, finally, made Sengoku realize what was going on and he reacted by biting on the invading tongue, hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, but Akutsu didn't back off. Instead, he growled and kissed Sengoku harder still, bruising, his painful grip on the smaller man unrelenting.

Sengoku felt his knees go weak; he steadied himself by grasping Akutsu's arms. He wasn't enjoying the kiss. Akutsu was hurting him and he had trouble breathing, and everything was spinning, and why was he kissing back?... It was too much, he was going to die like this, he needed to run, he needed to escape, he needed Akutsu to keep kissing him like that...

All of a sudden, the pressure was gone as Akutsu stepped back and glared at Sengoku even more murderously than ever before; then, he stormed off of the kitchen quickly. The bewildered redhead heard a string of curses and a slam of doors being shut, presumably in the bathroom, because the noises were followed by the sound of pouring water. Taking the opportunity, Sengoku gathered his papers (ignoring some which fell on the floor; it's not like they were all that important anyway), grabbed his shoes from the hall and ran for his life.

* * *

He needed a drink and he needed it badly, and there was no better person to drink with than one Oshitari Yuushi, also known as "that lazy bum" throughout the Atobe Corporation. He chose that guy simply because Oshitari never asked annoying questions, too concentrated on whining about his own problems (how could he have any, though?) and failures (about the existence of those, Sengoku had no doubts). When he called, Oshitari protested a bit, like he always did, and then agreed to meet him in their usual bar.

The place was totally high class, the luxury being something Sengoku was already used to. He'd been attending premises like this with his lawyer colleagues, usually to have a drink or two and chat about whatever. He'd never had problems so big that he felt the need to drink himself into oblivion before now. Well, there always had to be a first time. He believed the bar's staff would be discrete if he did manage to get himself wasted. Hopefully. Otherwise, it would be bad for his reputation.

Even though soon, he knew, there wouldn't be much left of his reputation whatsoever.

'You look awful,' Oshitari said in the way of greeting, taking a seat on the stool closest to Sengoku's. The redhead thought that if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black, he didn't know what was. Oshitari had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was tied in a loose ponytail for the first time since they'd met, and he was wearing tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. He also wasn't wearing his glasses, which were admittedly only for show, but he was still rarely seen in public without them.

All in all, he was lucky the staff here knew him so well, if they didn't, they probably wouldn't have let him in. He looked like a homeless guy or something. A clean one, true, but homeless anyway.

Having ordered himself a drink, Oshitari looked Sengoku over carefully. 'Seriously, you look like shit. What's wrong, a tough break-up?'

'With my hand?' Sengoku muttered, shaking his head. 'Some people don't have time for relationships, Oshitari, unlike you.'

'Yeah, yeah... As if you weren't just as idle about work as I am,' replied Oshitari. 'Whatever. You should be happy. Relationships suck. You might get hit on the head with a frying pan if you're not careful, and then your mother would get you an oversized bear for prosecution, and instead of everything ending swiftly with one stupid trial, it would drag on and on forever for three fucking months,' he said miserably.

'Sounds tough,' Sengoku admitted. 'That your case?' He asked, genuinely curious. He had to admit, though, that he also did it to get Oshitari to rant, because once that happened, nothing would be able to stop it.

'Yeah. Wife hits husband for the lipstick on his shirt. Turns out it was actually hers. Enter one mother-in-law from hell and there you are, a great family comedy. Only not really, because all of a sudden, one irritating, bulky prosecutor shows up, and everything gets so complicated, since the guy's too good. Like seriously, he's awesome, wish I had half of his talent. Anyway, that big oaf manages to tear down half of my line of defence during the _first trial_, and it sucks, but that's not even the worst of it,' Oshitari sighed. Sengoku was impressed, seeing him babble this much without having even started on his alcohol yet. 'Not only does Atobe have more progress on a _hard_ case against the fucking god of fucking prosecution than I do on the simplest case ever, no, it couldn't just end like that. You know what the worst thing is?'

A realization hit Sengoku then. 'You've been drinking at home.'

'Of course I've been drinking. Atobe fired me,' announced the supposed genius, then chuckled bitterly. 'See, doesn't that suck? He fucked me one day and then he fired me the next. You haven't heard about it? Geez, you really must be pretty busy with your client. It's all over the company, probably. Atobe's giving my spot to whoever prepares a better line of defence for this case before next week. If you hurry up, you still have a chance, you're good at deals...'

'What? You're drunk, Oshitari. There's no way Atobe's done that. You're important to the Corporation, remember? Because you're _the _genius?' Sengoku said, looking at the other man in disbelief, trying to take it all in. He finished his drink (third already), still staring, expecting Oshitari to start laughing or to call it all a great joke. Yet, Oshitari did nothing of the kind.

Instead, he just sighed. 'Funny, I used to think the same thing. Also, I used to think he was my friend. Guess we're all so horribly wrong,' he did laugh now, albeit bitterly.

'Well, shouldn't you be looking for another job? It's surprising that there isn't a line forming to snatch you away, now that you're not in Atobe Corp., though,' Sengoku said, trying to lift the atmosphere a little bit. He patted Oshitari awkwardly on the shoulder, wondering how suddenly, his own problems seemed small by comparison.

'I'm useless. Who's going to take me in when I can't even win a simple case? It's all because of that damn oversized bear bastard...' Complained Oshitari, laying his head on the counter. He didn't even seem in the mood for drinking anymore. 'Nobody cares that I got fucking drugged on the first trial, or that I was hit by a car before the second one, and about all that other stuff. They're all just "Oshitari sucks" and "why the hell do you call _that thing_ a genius", and they're right. I guess I'll have to sell my apartment and my car, and my t-shirt collection... and I'll go work in a kimchi shop as a waiter, and when they fire me as well, I'll be homeless and live on the street, and some thugs will rape me and take everything I will still own, and then they'll kill me. I don't want to die!...'

'How did you even manage to arrive here if you're this wasted, Yuushi?...' Sengoku asked, slightly impressed at the accomplishment, but mostly worried. 'No, wait, don't tell me. I'm going to get you home,' he said, shaking his head.

And, despite Oshitari's loud, obnoxious protests, he did just that.

* * *

Oshitari Yuushi had had his fair share of bad days in his life, especially over the last three months. Everything in the world seemed to have formed a well-thought out, perfectly executed conspiracy against his pretty much innocent self, a conspiracy which aimed to lose him his job, his reputation and, in the end, his life. It had started with one little mistake on his part – he underestimated the case he was working on, and the people involved in it. A simple case of domestic violence, which was supposed to be resolved during one trial, turned instead into a full-blown war in court, a war that he, unprepared for an event of such proportions, was destined to lose - battle by battle.

He didn't even remember how the downfall had started. One morning, he woke up, took a shower, got dressed, ate a big breakfast and went to the court to win a trial. Halfway through, something went terribly wrong and he got drugged by drinking a cup of tea from an inconspicuous elderly lady that had seemed so taken with him. Only later did he find out that the lady was the enemy. But by then, he already knew that everybody around him was, actually, an enemy.

The trial was postponed twice more after that.

The second time couldn't be helped; Oshitari had been hit by a car on his way to the court-house. The driver was never caught and the lawyer spent six days in the hospital on observation (mostly because Atobe was freaking out). Sanada had had the nerve to send him a get-well card, and Oshitari felt a surge of wild satisfaction as he watched it soak in the hospital toilet and imagined it go down the drain.

Then, the trial was postponed again because mysteriously, the victim _and _more than a half of his witnesses had claimed illnesses, which were confirmed by their doctors. Because nothing could be done about that, Judge Katou was forced to set a new date, which she did – for the next week.

It was her last decision as a judge. She was found in her apartment the next day, dead. Apparently, she died naturally in her sleep.

Oshitari had hated her when she was alive, and she had hated him with an equal passion. She was keen on calling him the biggest threat to womankind, while he would casually drop in some jibes about her old age or her spinsterhood into his otherwise polite conversations with her. She had been a feminist, a vicious fighter for woman rights, and men like Oshitari, who charmed females with their tricky smiles, didn't deserve any warm feelings from her.

Yet, during the few years they knew each other, Judge Katou Ayako and attorney Oshitari Yuushi had managed to form a reluctant companionship. They both weren't willing to admit it, but such was the truth. However, this relationship, based on their respect for each other's work and expertise, didn't translate to any kind of favouritism in the courtroom; quite the opposite, Judge Katou was as much an opponent for Oshitari as the prosecution attorney, and he had to do his best, to try his hardest and give it his all, in order to win the trials for his clients. Judge Katou would say that this way, she forced Oshitari to snap out of his laziness and made him into a better person – or at least a much better lawyer.

But she was gone. Oshitari knew he would miss her invaluable advice and her brazen sense of humour. At her funeral, he realised that she taught him a lot more than the law school had.

Next week at the trial, a new judge was introduced to the case. Judge Takashima, a forty-something year old man from somewhere in Kansai, was of a strong conviction that women should have no rights other than to give birth to children and take care of the house while their husbands – their masters – go and work to support their families. He was a traditionalist in the worst meaning of the word, a chauvinistic, misogynistic bastard so vocal with his opinions that even Oshitari, who didn't particularly care either way, found it hard to stomach.

Additionally to his strong opinions, which often played a big part in the trials he led, Judge Takashima also had a political background that made him basically abandon any quest for truth a man of his position should have; he used his post to pursue his irrational, personal vendetta against women who dared not to fit into his system of values.

Upon learning that he was supposed to convince Takashima of his client's innocence, Oshitari was all but ready to ask for a sword in order to commit a spectacular suicide in front of the whole courtroom. It was a disaster; his efforts won him nothing but a sneer from the judge and a weird look from Sanada, who didn't seem to really understand what was going on all around him.

That second trial wasn't the last in the case, but it was the last for Oshitari. Later, at night, Atobe came to his apartment to yell at him. He went wild with his accusations and name-calling, as if everything had been Oshitari's fault, as if he had been losing on purpose. They argued, they brawled like angry teenagers, then they kissed and touched and had sex, and it was just like when they were still at school, when they were still in love, and by the time the next morning came, Oshitari was out of his job.

* * *

The hangover was the worst, Oshitari concluded, waking up sometime in the afternoon after his drinking session. He could vaguely remember talking to Sengoku; for whatever reason, just a recollection of the other man's vivid orange-red hair made him want to throw up, so he crawled his way to the bathroom, where the urge magically vanished. However, that was when the noise started and it was unbearable, as terrible as an air-raid warning and rising in volume with each minute, until Oshitari thought he would go crazy right at the spot. Before he could go crazy, however, everything went quiet, the blessed silence ringing in his ears, making him feel nauseous all over again. Luckily, he was still in the bathroom, so he proceeded to hug the toilet seat, and he remained in that position for quite a long time.

When the contents of his stomach had been returned to the outside world in a rather unsightly fashion, the awfully loud alarm resounded again in the small space of the bathroom. This time, Oshitari managed to locate the source of the noise, correctly assuming that it wasn't an air-raid warning, but rather, his phone ringing like crazy in the pocket of his jeans. Marvelling at the fact that he had inexplicably ended up sleeping in his jeans, he forced himself to make the giant effort of reaching to the pocket with his free hand (the one that he wasn't using to propping himself in a more-or-less sitting position on the floor) and bringing it up to his ear after hitting the "accept" button.

'Man, I was worried you'd died,' said a familiar voice, all too cheerful even through the audible relief. Sengoku, no doubt. The red-haired frenzy. 'How are you feeling? Do you need me to bring you some aspirin?'

'No. I just need you to shut up,' replied Oshitari, disregarding any notions of common courtesy. He was tired, sore and painfully unemployed. He was well within his rights to be cranky. 'Or you can dye that awful hair of yours, it's making me sick.'

'That makes no sense, you can't even see me! Anyway, I'm going to be at your place in five. Want me to pick something up from the store?' Asked Sengoku, still much too cheerful to Oshitari's liking. It made him want to murder something fluffy and cute. Possibly even a kitten. He liked kittens. But now, because of Sengoku, he wanted to slaughter one.

'Your brain,' he muttered and turned off the phone. Resisting the urge to throw it into the toilet, where it could acquaint itself with the previously emptied contents of his stomach, Oshitari just put it back into his back pocket and made an enormous effort to get up to his feet. Swaying back and forth, he succeeded in not falling over while flushing the toilet. In a very risky manoeuvre, he turned around to face the sink and tried to avoid looking at the mirror at the same time. He failed. An ugly, tired, pale face came into his view, terrifying him for a second before he realised it was his own face he was seeing and not that of a monster from horror films. Calming down, he proceeded to brush his teeth and to generally wash himself as best as he could without being able to steady himself too much.

True to his word, Sengoku did come over, a bag of groceries in one hand and a flask of pills in the other, plus a stupid grin on his face. Lucky bastard with no problems in the world. Oshitari decided he wouldn't harm any kittens; Sengoku would probably be more than enough to satisfy him.

Or not.

'Don't you dare blame me for your condition, Oshitari,' Sengoku warned him jokingly as ways of greeting. 'You're going to want this,' he added, passing him the flask of aspirin, ignoring the glare of instant death that Oshitari was giving him. He probably got used to such glares after that Akutsu guy he was defending in court.

'Do something with your hair. It offends me,' Oshitari complained unreasonably, taking two pills and drinking some water to go with them. He hoped his stomach would cooperate. He didn't fancy another hugging session with the toilet seat.

'You're speaking like Atobe,' Sengoku pointed out, shaking his head as he comfortably installed himself in Oshitari's big, spacious kitchen. 'Although he's being offended by anything these days. That case against Tezuka is keeping him on edge. One wrong move and he's going to fall,' he sighed, removing the contents of his bag onto the counter. 'Want a fresh leek salad for lunch? It's light and won't disturb your stomach all that much.'

'You're disturbing my stomach,' Oshitari said. He sat down in the corner of the kitchen, hiding there from the sunlight that crept inside through the big windows. He wondered what had possessed him when he was buying the apartment; he was very easily drunk and very prone to hangovers, and this was definitely not a hangover-friendly place. 'Whatever. You can make me a stew from unborn babies, for all I care. I'm going to throw up anyway.'

'That's rather disgusting, don't you think? Unborn babies stew, I mean. Where would I even buy the ingredients? Nah, I'll stick with leek salad. Less calories,' Sengoku winked and began to work on the meal. Oshitari, meanwhile, didn't know if he should be offended by the implication of himself needing a diet, or disgusted by the smell of food that made something twist and turn inside his stomach.

His body chose the latter for him, so he ran to the bathroom without excusing himself – if the motion could even be called _running_. Of all things, it looked more like he was crawling on the walls, hugging them for support on his way. This way, he did manage to get to his desired location quickly enough. He spent a good thirty minutes inside, feeling very, very bad.

* * *

The leek salad did agree with his stomach some time later. So did the green tea and the rice cookies. Oshitari, still weak from his hangover, but recovering admirably thanks to the medicine and water supply, found it in himself to actually be grateful to Sengoku for what the other lawyer was doing for him. They weren't really friends, more like colleagues and occasional drink buddies, if anything, so the redhead had no obligation to help him out in this embarrassing situation. Yet, here he was, despite Oshitari's initial attempts to drive him away, grinning like an idiot while washing the dishes.

Who the hell washed the dishes manually when there was a perfectly usable dishwasher available? Oshitari wondered if he would have to learn to do this kind of stuff, now that he was unemployed. Dishwashers used up a lot of water and some electricity, after all. Would he be able to afford it? Or anything else in his apartment, for that matter? He didn't think so. He didn't want to move out, though. He liked it in there. It was spacious and tastefully furnished, it had all the little luxuries that made life that much easier, and it was his place. He felt safe there. He didn't think he could feel this good anywhere else.

'I'll have to go now,' Sengoku said as he finished. He set the last dish on the dryer and wiped his hands on the dishcloth. 'I have a meeting with my client,' he sighed, as if he wasn't really looking forward to that. 'Oh, by the way. You do know that Atobe expects you back at work on Monday? He's giving you the rest of the week off to investigate some stuff, but he threatens you with death by means of strangulation if you're late by even one minute in the office on Monday.'

'He fired me,' Oshitari said doubtfully.

'Yeah. He also fired me, Akutagawa, Sakaki-san, the repairman for the air-conditioning, the whole team of janitors... Oh, and the pizza deliveryman,' said Sengoku, shrugging his shoulders indifferently.

'He can't do that,' Oshitari noted, blinking.

'Well, he did. Twice, actually,' replied the redhead. He seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. His lower lip was twitching. 'He's a ticking bomb, that guy. Bound to blow up at least once a day. It's because he's frustrated. Despite having the upper hand in the courtroom, he still can't win that Tezuka guy's attention. Must be driving him crazy.'

'Rumours in the office travel amazingly fast,' muttered Oshitari, trying to process all the information. 'Does everybody in the company know that Atobe's head over heels in love with that guy?'

'Well, not till now, but thanks for the confirmation,' Sengoku finally grinned at him. 'Anyway, you're not fired. You're going to be worked into your grave in Atobe Corporation, whether you like it or not. So just investigate whatever Atobe wants you to investigate, and stop acting like a drama queen. And for everyone's sake, start wearing make-up or at least sleep normally. You honestly look like a zombie.'

Oshitari decided not to mention that he had no idea what it was he was supposed to investigate. He would work on that later. Sengoku was somewhat right. He needed lots of sleep to recover his impeccable beauty. He didn't feel right without it.

Yes. Sleep it is.

* * *

Sanada Genichirou may not have been the brightest man when it came to some things, but he could definitely see when something in his field of expertise was not going the way it was supposed to. The ridiculous case he was working on should have been over and done with three months ago, on that first trial that went bad halfway through, and yet it kept dragging on forever. The stream of supposed accidents that seemed to only happen to the defence attorney, Oshitari Yuushi, and the way that nobody seemed to connect the dots when the lack of coincidence became obvious arose his suspicion.

In his heart, Sanada was more of an investigator than a prosecutor. Finding a mystery that nobody was keen to solve, he immediately and naturally set out to solve it himself. He didn't inform anyone of his self-appointed side task.

* * *

Akutsu Jin come to the appointment with his lawyer. He also rejected all of his calls. When Sengoku showed up to check out his apartment, he found that even though the door was open, the man wasn't there. His phone was left on the kitchen table.

Even though Sengoku waited for hours, Akutsu never showed up that night.

* * *

Tezuka Kunimitsu received an email from a strange address. The contents of the message made him run to the bathroom and throw up. That night, he couldn't sleep or concentrate on work. Curled up on the couch in his office with the lights turned off, he stared at the door, pretending that he wasn't afraid of the slightest movement of the shadows on the smooth surface.

* * *

Oshitari Yuushi slept peacefully, not for a moment realising what was beginning around him. The man watching the live video feed from the camera hidden in the lawyer's bedroom ripped open a new packet of popcorn. The night was uneventful, just like many nights before.

_Sleep, Yuushi, sleep. While you still can. _


End file.
